The Sheik

Once more the sympathetic eyes looked straight into hers, and the quick

blood rushed into her face as she bent her head again hurriedly over

the magazine. She knew instinctively that he was trying to help her,

talking nonsense with a tact that ignored her equivocal position. She

was grateful to him, but even his chivalry hurt. She watched him under

her thick lashes as he went back to the Sheik and sat down beside him,

refusing his host's proffered cigarettes with a wry face of disgust and

a laughing reference to a "perverted palate," as he searched for his

own.

The hatred she had been prepared to give him had died away during

dinner--only the jealousy remained, and even that had changed from its

first intensity to an envy that brought a sob into her throat. She

envied him the light that shone in the Arab's dark eyes, she envied him

the intonation of the soft slow voice she loved. Her eyes turned to the

Sheik. He was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head,

talking with a cigarette between his teeth. His attitude towards his

European friend was that of an equal, the haughty, peremptory accent

that was noticeable when he spoke to his followers was gone, and a flat

contradiction from Saint Hubert provoked only a laugh and a gesture of

acceptance.

As they sat talking the contrast between the two men was strongly

marked. Beside the Frenchman's thin, spare frame and pale face, which

gave him an air of delicacy, the Sheik looked like a magnificent animal

in superb condition, and his quiet repose accentuated the Vicomte's

quick, nervous manner. Under the screen of her thick lashes Diana

watched them unheeded. Their voices rose and fell continuously; they

seemed to have a great deal to say to each other, and they talked

indiscriminately French and Arabic so that much that they said was

incomprehensible to her. She was glad that it should be so, she did not

want to know what they were saying. It seemed as if they had forgotten

her presence with the accumulated conversation of two years. She was

thankful to be left alone, happy for the rare chance of studying the

beloved face unnoticed. It was seldom she had the opportunity, for when

they were alone she was afraid to look at him much lest her secret

should be betrayed in her eyes. But she looked at him now unobserved,

with passionate longing. She was so intent that she did not notice

Gaston come in until he seemed suddenly to appear from nowhere beside

his master. He murmured something softly and the Sheik got up. He

turned to Saint Hubert.